


Rising Tide

by Darthanne



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Action/Adventure, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Wordcount: Over 1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-24
Updated: 2010-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-12 21:09:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darthanne/pseuds/Darthanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a mission to save Trowa, Quatre is captured and left to drown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rising Tide

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu Agency. I promise to return the characters in one piece, more or less, when I'm finished, but hold no liability for any broken bones or psychological trauma sustained by them in my fiction.
> 
> Thanks to Lil for beta reading.

The water was cold, more so than he had anticipated. It crept higher, inch by inch. Quatre pulled at the ropes holding him but they wouldn't budge.

It was his own fault; he had been careless, letting his guard down for one moment. By the time he'd felt the pinprick in the side of his neck it was already too late. He'd tried to run, but only got a couple of steps before his surroundings had spun and he'd staggered. Even so it had taken several men to hold him down; he'd fought them until the blackness had finally claimed him.

He hated the cold. Water he didn't mind but not like this, not when he couldn't escape it. It also was not the time to be regretting his not taking the time to learn to swim. There had been no need for it on L4. Like the part of Earth that his ancestors had originally come from, there were not wide expanses of water in which to learn to do so. No, for that he would have had to take a break, a proper holiday, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd allowed himself that luxury. It was something he'd planned to do though, and soon. Trowa was right. They both needed some quality time together.

He pulled at the ropes again; they seemed to be growing tighter, the water seeping into them as it filled the small room in which he'd been imprisoned.

Still, he thought, as he spluttered, spitting out the salty water from his mouth, at least he'd achieved what he had set out to do before he'd been caught.

That was what mattered. That Trowa was safe; his position had not been compromised.

****

Trowa's expression hardened; he pressed himself back against the wall, listening to the conversation between the two smugglers. Their tone was casual, as though they were discussing a fishing catch rather than the fate of whomever it was they'd caught in one of their high security areas.

Normally, he would be back at his post by now, not wishing to draw attention to himself by his absence, but there was something about this conversation that had made him stop and eavesdrop. His mission here was nearly complete. All he had to do was finish his shift and he could walk out. This had taken too long; it was the last of these lengthy undercover missions he was prepared to undertake. Une could find someone else. It had been different during the war, or even in the early days of his position with Preventers. Quatre was right, having a reason to come home at night made one hell of a difference.

There was also the growing unease in the back of his mind that he couldn't shake. He'd taken a short break a few minutes before, claiming the need to refill his coffee, unsure as to the cause of the sudden wave of dizziness that he'd felt, although it had passed quickly, and it was doubtful that anyone else had noticed it.

****

The water was still rising. Quatre fought to stay calm; he'd managed to find a foothold on one of the walls, his boots slipping on the slimy metal, but it had been enough to ease him upwards a couple of inches, the ropes securing his hands to the pole straining but still refusing to break. They cut into his flesh; he idly noticed that there was a faint red tinge to the water that hadn't been there before.

He needed to focus on something, anything. Glancing around the room, he made himself examine it in detail. A choked laugh bubbled the water against his lips. He brought his head up with a jerk. As long as he couldn't taste the water, and it was free from his mouth and nose he could keep breathing.

It was a small room, barely enough room to swing a cat in as Duo would say. Quatre closed his eyes for a moment, not wanting to make that association now. He bit his lip, the pain forcing him to focus once more. It was a small room, completely made of metal, which meant he was probably on a ship of some kind, which would explain the salt in the water. It also made sense in the fact that this organisation was suspected of smuggling – anything that had a decent market value - although their present operation, according to the information that Trowa had intercepted, was a particularly nasty version of a new designer drug. The few who had been unfortunate to partake of this particular batch were now deceased.

Quatre panicked for a moment, remembering the dart he'd been taken down with. No, that had been just a sedative. It had to be, or he'd be feeling the effects of it by now. They wouldn't waste their precious contraband on someone who was shortly about to die anyway. Testing and improving it was not high on their list of priorities, not when they already had a ready and willing market.

"One... Two... Three ... Keep calm. Think. Damn it, think." His voice was raspy, echoing off the walls of the enclosed chamber, the only sound apart from it and his breathing that of the water flowing in, filling his metal tomb.

****

One of the men laughed. "I wouldn't have picked that guy for a Preventer agent." He rubbed at his shoulder. "He threw one hell of a punch though."

His companion's next words made Trowa still completely. "He fought that sedative for far longer than he should have been able to." The man shook his head. "Anyway, it doesn't matter now." He glanced at his watch. "I give him maybe another fifteen minutes if that."

The first man shrugged. "If he's lucky. I would have liked to have played with him a while, but the boss just wants this over and done with. Shame really, he was a looker with that blond hair. I'm rather partial to blonds."

Trowa swore silently. It had to be Quatre they were talking about; that description fitted all too well and it explained the earlier dizzy spell. But he was supposed to be at WEI today rather than undercover for Preventers; not that that would matter once Quatre decided something needed his attention. Still listening carefully to the conversation, Trowa focused and reached for Quatre through their shared empathic link. Quatre felt calm, a little too calm. He reached deeper, his mouth narrowing to a thin line when he felt the underlying panic his husband had obviously been trying to shield from him. They'd be discussing that point later.

Casually, Trowa strolled out of his hiding place, his demeanour suggesting that he was exactly where he was meant to be. His expression one of mild interest instead of his usual indifference, he greeted his colleagues. "The commander wants to make sure that that guy you were discussing goes down properly." He lowered his voice. "He's told me to see to it personally, make a little more fun." He made a gesture with one hand, his lips curling up into a smirk. "I'm rather partial to blonds myself, but this one...this one I'm especially interested in, if you catch my drift."

The first man – now that Trowa was closer he could read their name badges – Jenkins, sniggered. "No less than he deserves. Enjoy it."

Matherson laughed. "I knew that old tub would have its use one day again soon. It's been too long since the last time."

Nodding, Trowa noted their names. They'd get exactly what was coming to them once this organisation was taken down, which it would be in three hours time. Which was, unfortunately, not soon enough to save Quatre. "The old tub?"

"Yeah. Or the Endeavour if you want to get picky and use its correct name." He peered at Trowa, suddenly suspicious. "That's the name you would have been given, yeah?"

"Yeah." Trowa's mind raced through all the information he had on that particular boat and its location, everything coming together as he realised when the next high tide was. Fifteen minutes had been generous. Quatre would be lucky if he had even that.

Both men were now looking at him suspiciously. "Hey..." one of them started to say, but Trowa wasn't interested. Nor did he have the time. Ignoring them, he set off in the direction of the Endeavour at a run.

****

Quatre yanked at his ropes; a muttered curse only served to fill with mouth with salty water. He'd managed to edge further up the pole towards the ceiling, but now the rope was caught and refusing to move. Damn it! He didn't have time for this.

He shivered; the cold of the water was making it harder to stay focused, his co-ordination was deteriorating. One foot slipped, he tried to swing it up again, breathing heavily at the effort. The water kept rising, relentless in its mission to fill the compartment completely. Swearing again, Quatre kicked with his legs, trying to get some buoyancy. He needed to stop the flow of water. Another few minutes and there would be no options available to him.

Another empathic caress brushed against his mind. Trowa felt frantic. God! Quatre had tried to project calm so Trowa wouldn't worry but then he'd never been fooled by that.

Still, Quatre had to try. Trowa was undercover, and would be for another few hours yet. There was no point in risking both of them, not when Quatre had managed to retrieve and destroy the information responsible for this mess in the first place. He couldn't stand by and let Trowa be caught and killed. Breathing coming in gasps, Quatre attempted to project calm as strongly as he could and failed dismally.

He inhaled water; there was less than an inch of air left and he couldn't get to it. Fuck! Fuck! Panicked movements only served to worsen the situation. Pushing up as far as he could, he felt himself start to sink instead, the sodden ropes trying to pull him back down. His boots, now full of water, weren't helping. He kicked, trying to get them off, anything to stay afloat, but it was no good. The ropes moved a fraction then jammed again.

Feeling Trowa project calm and hope, Quatre projected apology and love in return. His lungs burnt, he held his breath, his struggles growing weaker as the cold more insistently staked its claim over him.

Quatre let his eyes drift close. It was easier this way; the water didn't irritate them so much. In fact it felt warmer. Trowa was coming. Quatre reached out for him, for the light that had always been there to beckon in the darkness.

****

It took too long to reach the old boat. There were a couple of men standing guard, not their best operatives but then it was doubtful they'd expected much in the way of opposition. Their captive was firmly secured and they had other things to do with their time.

Trowa's fist connected with one guard's jaw, the other looked up in surprise. A minute later both guards were sprawled on the deck. Questioning them would have been a waste of the time Quatre had left; it was doubtful they would have answered anyway.

"Cat!" Trowa yelled his husband's name. That part of the wharf was deserted. It was a wild night, rain hosing down and the wind swallowed most of the noise he'd made. Quickly scanning the deck, Trowa spotted the door that led below decks. Running over to it, he yanked it open, relieved that it wasn't locked, and headed down into the bowels of the boat.

It was damp and cold; he was wading through several inches of dank smelling water. A search of the first level revealed nothing but empty rooms, the size and feel of them reminiscent of a tomb. Trowa shivered, not allowing his mind to further pursue that idea.

"Cat!" A sharp shove of a closed door led Trowa to a dark staircase heading further downwards. He took the stairs a couple at a time; they were old and creaked under his weight. At the far end of the bottom deck there was a small door with water seeping out of its edges. God.

Even as he tried to get it open, Trowa sent out a desperate empathic trendril, his panic increasing when he felt a sluggish but only very faint response. Quatre was alive, but wouldn't be for much longer. Trowa had felt this from Quatre before, after the final battle of the war. He shook his head, looking around for something in which to jimmy the door with. He wouldn't think about that now. He couldn't.

Putting his weight against one end of the long handles keeping the door closed, Trowa shoved as hard as he could, muscles burning as he strained. It didn't budge. He tried again with the same result.

To hell with this.

Noises sounded on the deck above. He ignored them. The guards being awake were the least of his problems.

He took a step back, ready to try again, this time with more force. His foot caught something on the floor. Glancing down, he saw a long thick piece of steel. Picking it up he jammed it between the circle of the handle and the door and tried again, willing the stubborn lock to move. Gritting his teeth, he applied more force, his breathing speeding up as he put everything he had into it.

The lock groaned in protest but moved. It must have taken both of the guards to close it before. They were well built men, even if they were lacking in other areas.

One more shove and the lock spun around, the door opening. Trowa stood back quickly as water streamed out, wading through the flooded compartment behind the door a moment later when the level dropped enough to allow him to do so.

Slumped against a pole in the middle of the room was Quatre. His eyes were closed, he was wet through and his hands were bound by coarse ropes behind him. The ropes were stained red with his blood.

Trowa was by his husband's side in an instant, frantically feeling for a pulse. "Please, Cat. Oh god, don't leave me." His own breathing hitched, relaxing when he felt what he was looking for, Quatre was alive, his pulse was steady and he was breathing. Quickly Trowa used his knife to free Quatre from his restraints, pulling him close, cradling him.

A harsh cough filled the air, Quatre shifting in Trowa's arms, eyes opening. "Hey," he murmured, his voice raspy. He coughed again, this time bringing up a combination of water and some kind of green muck. "You came. I knew you would."

"Hey," Trowa said gently, already lifting Quatre, helping him up. He needed to be checked over by a doctor but in the meantime they had to get out of here. It would still be some time before Preventers arrived and, judging by the noise above them, the guards on deck were awake and not happy.

Quatre leaned into Trowa, pulling his head down for a brief kiss. Breaking it, Quatre cocked his head to one side, listening. "I'm not sure how much help I'll be getting us out of here, but I'll do what I can."

Above them someone yelled; it was followed by a loud thud. "I know you will." Trowa was not about to waste his time arguing with Quatre about what he was or wasn't fit about to do. He knew better. Once they got out of here there would be plenty of time for that. If they didn't, he wasn't going to waste what they did have left together. "Can you walk?"

"Yes." Quatre was already heading towards the door. He'd fought a battle after being skewered by that bitch; nearly being drowned wouldn't stop him in this situation either. He was far too stubborn for that.

Trowa sighed. It was one of the things he loved about Quatre and also one of the most frustrating. "I'm going first," he stated, his tone clear that that, at least, was not up for discussion.

"Okay." Quatre paused. "Do you have a weapon besides your knife?"

"No." Trowa stepped out of the room, glancing around quickly. The action seemed to be taking place on the top deck rather than the one directly above them.

The yelling suddenly stopped. Quatre frowned. "They would have known you were here. Why haven't they come below deck?"

That was a good question, one to which Trowa didn't know the answer. Carefully he began climbing the stairs, taking his time, and giving Quatre the chance to stay directly behind him. He was in no hurry to have things out with these men, but neither was he prepared to stay down here and be caught like rats in a trap. Above deck they had a fighting chance, below they had next to none.

Cautiously, he made his way along the deck on the next level. It was deserted, as it had been on his way to find Quatre. The commotion had to be coming from the one above this as he'd thought. Reaching the top of the stairs leading to the way out, and fresh air at least, Trowa poked his head through the open door.

A familiar face greeted him, concern turning to a grin when Quatre followed his husband up onto the deck. Duo and Heero were busy restraining the men that Trowa had taken down earlier. It figured that their friends, and fellow agents, would have been alerted when Trowa hadn't checked in when he was meant to, especially if they'd also had intel about Quatre's predicament. "I see you found Q, Trowa." Duo turned to Heero. "I told you he'd have all the fun while we got stuck with clean up."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Rising Tide [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4266855) by [theweightofanother](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theweightofanother/pseuds/theweightofanother)




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